All I Really Want
by Technicolor
Summary: Hermione has decided it's time to return to the world of the family and friends she loves. When she can't find a place to stay, where will she turn? And will anything happen with that Weasley she's had her eye on?
1. Meeting At the Burrow

A/N: I was reading OoTP for the second time recently, and I stumbled over a sentence that got the fanfiction part of my brain running. It involves a certain Weasley and Hermione (and this story isn't on the Good Ship, if that's any help). Ok, ok, I'll give you a hint that should give it right away: he belongs to one half of Hogwarts' greatest pranksters. Have fun and always remember to REVIEW!

This chapter is mostly going to bring you up to speed with what's going on in the wizard world. All the good juicy plot parts are going to follow. I guess you could consider this a prologue of sorts, mixed with a little bit of chapter (with plot, storyline, etc.)

Also: check out my other fic, "You Live, You Learn" for some classic Good Ship R/H action.

* * *

The sun felt so good on Hermione's shoulder. Sipping lemonade on a lounge chair around the back of the Burrow, she realized that she had nearly forgotten how wonderful spending summers with the Weasleys had been. Work had completely taken over her life for the past three years, and she had barely talked to Ron or Harry. Catching up with Harry wasn't easy, since he had been training to become an Auror, but she had no excuse not to write to Ron. He was working for the ministry in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Discovering that he might not be the best quidditch player, he wasn't ready to write it off as a hobby. He was in charge of organizing the Quidditch Cup of England and Ireland and was rapidly advancing.

As for Hermione, she hadn't quite known what to do when she left school. She eventually decided on becoming a healer and traveling the world helping to treat MTDs, Magically Transmitted Diseases. She originally felt like she was making a difference, working in research centers all over the globe to find cures for magical ailments and going to third world countries delivering supplies. As of late, however, she felt so disconnected from her family and friends. She decided to take a post as a medical researcher at St. Mungo's. It combined the best of both worlds: her career, which was progressing very quickly, and the comfort of home. This summer she had taken off to write a book that would help raise awareness of less privileged witches and wizards. She was also in contract to write a book of practical household accidents and injuries and how to treat them/

She hadn't had time to look for an apartment in London yet, so Molly Weasley, the angel that she was, offered to have her stay there. It would give her plenty of relaxation to work on her book AND time to catch up with her best friend. Harry was even going to take some time off in a week to spend with the Weasleys and Hermione. Everything seemed to be falling into place.

"C'mon Hermione, play some quidditch!" Ginny called down from the sky. Hermione wrinkled her nose.

"I don't fare well with heights," she called back. Ginny spent most of her time on a broom these days. She was picked up right out of school to play for the Holyhead Harpies. The Nation Team was even in discussion to pick her up. Ginny could achieve her dream: playing in the Quidditch world cup. She was home for only a little while before the season picked up again in September.

Ginny just shrugged her shoulders and went back to tossing the ball around with Charlie. She handled it with such ease, it amazed him. The fact that her reflexes could impress even a star seeker told you something.

Charlie had gotten injured working with dragons (he no longer had three feet) and decided it was time to settle down anyway. He moved back to London with his longtime sweetheart, Linessa Robbins, and they were living in a comfortable apartment not far from the Burrow. They were even looking into buying property in Scotland and work on breeding rare animals.

"Hermione, Ginny! Come set the table for dinner," Molly hollered out the window into the back garden. Some things just never changed.

"Coming mom," Ginny replied in an exasperated sigh. Even at age nineteen and a half, she was still subject to being told what to do by her mother. 'As long as you live under my roof, you live under my rules' was Molly's mantra, and she stuck to it.

The two women walked into the kitchen. Arthur was reading the Prophet and muttering something about imploding light bulbs. The plates, knives, forks, and cups were all stacked and Molly was checking on some pot roast while having folden napkins float over to the dining room table.

"Mom, it's beautiful out. Why are we eating inside?"

"Because, Virginia, there are storm clouds on the horizon and I hate it when it rains in the middle of dinner," she replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Molly sometimes got a bit edgy these days. She had taken Percy's death very hard.

He had switched loyalties far too many times in the war of light versus dark and as a result was targeted. He took a stunner to the chest and fell on the spot. Painless, unlike many of the casualties, but still grievous. Hermione tried not to think about it when she could avoid it. She walked out of the kitchen. Just the thought of it made her sick.

Molly looked at her watch expectantly. The boys (Ron, Fred, and George) were all running late. It had become a Weasley tradition that all the Weasley offspring that were living in England make the trek back to the burrow every Sunday at six thirty for a home cooked meal. It was Molly's way of keeping her eye on all her sons and daughter and making sure she didn't miss anything like she had with Percy. She never again wanted to feel the regret of feeling disconnected from her child should anything happen to them. There were many witches in the world that didn't care about their kids once they were grown, but Molly was not one of them.

As if one cue, the front door burst open and the three missing boys charged into the door. George had Ron by the neck in a half nelson and was lecturing him on giving a proper noogie. Even at age 23, the twins still hadn't started acting any more mature. Fred was pinching George's ear and half dragging him into kitchen while singing 'Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head'.

"BOYS!" Molly shouted over the ruckus.

"Yes, dear mother?" George put on his most angelic face, which, knowing George, was hardly angelic at all.

Molly informed them that they were late for dinner and pointed them into the living room, but not before giving Ron a kiss on the head and asking how her good little boy was behaving. The twins proceeded to dance around the table doing their best imitations of Molly flattering Ron. Ron couldn't help but feeling that since Percy passed away, Molly had averted her attention to him, expecting him to fill his shoes. They were some mighty pompous shoes to fill.

Just as they were sitting down, Hermione came back into the room looking much more refreshed. Her hair was in shiny curly ringlets with pieces pulled off of her face with bobby pins. It was still a struggle taming her bushy hair, but with the aid of some spells and Madame Follier's Frizz Freeze potion, it was a struggle she was winning. She was wearing a loose fitting white skirt and a boat necked salmon t-shirt. Her cheeks glowed with a tan only attainable through desert sun. She had grown a few inches and lost some weight since she had last seen anyone in the Weasley family aside from Ginny and Ron.

Fred's jaw dropped. Hermione had DEFINITELY not looked this good when they were in Hogwarts. She was always pretty, but now she was stunning. The color of her shirt almost seemed to reflect off of her skin, making her look rosy and almost ethereal. It was extremely unusual for George to gape at any female, since he was quite good looking himself, but he just couldn't help it. He wondered how Ron hadn't shagged her senseless.

Even Ron was a little bit surprised. He had seen her a few times in the past few years, but she had never looked nearly this good. He smirked when he saw the expression of Fred's face. Fred, whose name was slowly becoming synonymous with "party boy flirt", looked as though he had just gotten slapped in the face. Even Ginny couldn't help giggling both at how awestruck her brother was and how oblivious her best friend was.

Molly was the first one to break the silence. "So, Ginny," she began, not sensing the moment that had just occurred when Hermione came in and sat down, "Did Harry mention the next time he'd be in town?"

Ginny looked up, surprised at her mother's random question. "Er, no, he hadn't. I wish he'd come back soon, though. There's a big gala announcing the female quidditch MVP and I really wanted him to come with me." She poked at her pot roast, obviously a little bitter about the whole situation. It wasn't easy to be dating a guy who flies around the world training to catch the most evil of wizards.

"Actually," Ron looked up from his plate, "He wrote me the other day and said he was coming into town next week."

Ginny looked furious. "How is it that you know and I don't?"

Color crept up into Ron's cheeks. "Er, I don't know, I guess he just..." The noose was tightening around his neck, he could feel it.

"So, Hermione, where've you been?" Fred asked in a feeble attempt to distract the conversation from Harry's whereabouts.

This launched her into a very intelligent and interesting conversation (the kind Fred typically hated) about how she traveled into parts of Africa and Asia delivering healing potions and supplies for sanitary living. She was proud of her work but also proud to be home.

Fred just stared into her deep brown eyes, hardly even listening to a word.

The girls were playing a game of wizard chess and the boys were on cleanup duty. Fred and George tried to enchant the dishes to wash and dry themselves, but all that had come of tha was an explosion of suds and bubbles and a few broken plates. Although it pained the four present Weasley boys, they had to do it the muggle way.

"So," George asked while scrubbing some dried gravy off of a serving platter, "Was Hermione always this hot or did I miss it?"

"Um, you have Katie," Fred said. He felt a tinge of anger at the way her brother was talking about Hermione when he was already taken by a girl who was very pretty herself.

"Yeah I know, but I still know when a babe is a babe." He made a face as he scraped some cold mashed potatoes into the garbage.

"She really did turn out to be good looking," Ron said. He had given up liking her in their seventh year. Learning to be content with only friendship wasn't easy, but it was worth it. They had become much better friends.

The conversation drifted onto the subject of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which was really doing well. They were really giving Zonko's a run for their money, especially since they installed a new premises in Hogsmeade next to the Hog's Head. Apparently Skiving Snackboxes had revolutionized the prank industry and were now the most in-demand product on the Hogwarts' black market (it had taken Filch all of ten minutes to add them to his list of forbidden objects).

"Did we tell you, little Bro?" Fred asked.

"Tell me what?" Fred took this as a no.

"About the new extension of WWW, of course".

"In Dublin!" George chimed in.

The twins had been planning this international extension for a while. They had been talking to Seamus Finnigan for quite a while about the competition over there, and there was hardly any. It just seemed like the right time to take their shop to the next level. They were careful not to make it a cheesy franchise by looking over every meticulous detail.

"When did you decide all this," Ron asked, "And why was I the last to know?"

"The only person we told was Charlie, ickle Ronnikins. Don't get your panties in a bunch," Fred replied.

"Well _sor_-ry." Ron still hadn't overcome his bruised ego.

* * *

In the living room, Hermione and Ginny were searching through the classified section of the Daily Prophet for apartments.

"I'm supposed to be moving in two weeks and I still haven't found a place yet!" Hermione cried throwing the paper down. She rubbed her forehead.

"You know you can stay here as long as you'd like," Ginny said meekly. She knew this wasn't the answer Hermione really wanted to hear, but she didn't have anything better.

Sure enough, she was right. "Thank's Ginny, I appreciate it, but your mum and dad have already done so much, I couldn't possibly..." Her voice trailed off. She'd been at the burrow for a week already and had planned on staying another week. It wasn't that she didn't love it here, she just felt that she was disrupting Molly's routine. She had become very fragile since Percy, and she didn't think it would be right to continue to burden her.

"I'm sure she wouldn't mind..." Ginny started, but couldn't finish. She could see what Hermione was thinking and she was probably right. Molly wasn't the same since it had happened, and a guest could help for a little while, but might not be so good in the long term.

"Hey girlies!" The twins called from the kitchen, "Why the long faces?"

"Yeah," Ron said as he came in to the living room and sat on a chair opposite Hermione, "Gloom really doesn't suit you well at all. Spill it."

She shook her head as to say 'Oh no, I couldn't possibly', but Ginny wasn't about to let this one slip by.

"She can't find an apartment," Ginny said from behind Hermione, raising her eyebrows. Ron didn't pick up her hint, but the idea was already in his head so it didn't matter.

"Why didn't you say anything before? We'll be glad to have you with us for a while," he said nodding over towards the twins. Hermione had forgotten that Ron flatted with them. "I'm serious!"

George nodded from the doorway. "We have a really cushy place. We even have a guest bedroom which we would be glad to have you in." Hermione was taken aback at this information.

"No, really... I couldn't... I just couldn't—"

"You can, and you will," Ron cut her off. "Isn't that right Fred?"

"Absolutely." He was grinning ear to ear. This was going to be fun.

"Well, if you insist..." Hermione was pleased, even if the slightest bit hesitant. What was better than rooming with her best friend? She'd be closer to work when she returned in September and she would have time to catch up on everything she missed.

Ginny shook her head. Hermione obviously had no idea what she was getting herself into.

Flame me and die. Well, just waste your own time really.


	2. Moving In

A/N: Ok all, welcome to your second serving of All I Really Want. I'm glad to see people reviewing and showing interest, you don't know how great it is for an author to see appreciation of his or her work. For those of you who want to keep track of how far along the next chapter is or just general information on my work, check out my livejournal. It's and I will be making ff related updates in addition to my random personal blogs. I may make a website just dedicated to all this, but not now. Ok, enough babble! More FW/HG action!

Disclaimer: Don't you know by now that I own nothing? The characters I use belong entirely to JKR and Co.

* * *

"That looks like all of it," Hermione said as she placed the last piece of tape over the cardboard box's opening. She had spent the weekend boxing up all her belongings and preparing to move in with Ron, Fred, and George.

"I'm going to miss you," Ginny sighed, "It was so nice to have you back around. But I have training anyway."

Hermione was going to miss them too, of course. The Weasleys were more than just her friends' family, they seemed to be a part of her family too. Their kindness wouldn't be forgotten.

Boxes were piled high all over the living room. Hermione decided that it would be easiest to send her things over to the flat by floo powder. She hadn't even seen the apartment yet, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to explain to any muggle movers why they couldn't see the door.

Slowly, they emptied the living room of the boxes. They even began to see parts of the carpet by the time half the boxes were sent over to 658 Kensington Court, her new address.

As the last box was disappearing, Mrs. Weasley came shuffling into the room, her eyes glistening with tears.

"I know that you've only been here for a few weeks, but I feel like you're the daughter I nev—"

"MOM!" Ginny cried indignantly.

"The daughter I, um, always wanted… second," she finished awkwardly, cheeks flushing. "As I was saying, I will really miss you and hope that you always come for Sunday dinner with Ron."

The twins didn't even bother inputting the fact that they lived there too.

"I certainly will, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said proudly. She was feeling particularly warm and fuzzy at that moment.

Hermione took a last deep breath of the burrow. Although she would be coming back quite frequently, she wouldn't be living there. She may not notice the smells and sounds. Although she had grown up with a loving family, this was more of a home to her than anyplace else she'd ever known. In the hard times, this had been her refuge. It was time to move on with a new chapter of her life, however, and it's best not to look back when moving forward.

* * *

"Oh boys, it's beautiful!" Hermione breathed softly as she looked at the room. In the two weeks since she had decided she was moving in, they had transformed it from a Chudley Cannons memorabilia room. Ron hadn't even wanted to, but somehow the twins didn't think Hermione would like to sleep on a Cannons' bedspread over a Cannons' throw rug surrounded by walls covered with Cannons' posters. After some deliberation (and the odd noogie), Ron caved and they set out to make it into a feminine paradise.

Hermione flopped onto the bed and gazed at the ceiling. All the posters were removed from the world and a fresh coat of peach paint seemed to reflect the light and set everything aglow. The windows were dressed in foam green. A vase of daiseys sat on the night table and they had even installed a rack and some shelves into the closet. She had half-expected to be moving in to a desolate room with nothing but mattress on the floor and a hamper. It was a fantastic surprise.

"D'you really like it?" Asked Fred intently. He was the only one of the three (now four) inhabitants to be home while Hermione was moving in. He had thought about her a lot while he made the moderations. Was she more of a peach or pink girl? Did she want glitter on her walls or was that more of a fourth-grade-witch thing? Would a queen or king size be better?

"It's absolutely fabulous," she said, giving Fred a hug. As she pressed her body into his, she couldn't help but notice how well their bodies fit together. He was so muscular and she was perfectly petite and she couldn't help but think "safety". She noticed that neither of them were keen to let go of each other, even while this train of thought passed by in her brain.

Fred chose to break the kiss when he felt himself getting "warmed up" as he discovered the way she was pressing her dainty hips into his. He felt himself blushing and pulled away. Glancing down at his feet, he mumbled something to himself.

"The colors are all right and everything, aren't they?" he asked, as hopeful as a boy on Christmas morning.

"Of course they're all right! I half expected… well, I don't even know what I expected…" she returned sheepishly.

Hermione suddenly felt very aware of her surroundings. She was living with three guys, none of whom had any experience living with a single non-male relative, and one of which she may or may not be developing a tiny crush on. She began folding t-shirts up and putting them in drawers to distract herself. She was just overreacting.

"Well, I have some accounting to go over," Fred said, "That ought to take me a few hours. Damn books…" He shuffled out of the room shaking his head.

Hermione felt very charged all of a sudden. She wanted to recreate that little moment they'd just had. Instant chemistry like that was a new experience for her, and she wanted to try it again.

All they'd done was hug, for Merlin's sake, nothing more. It's not like they… she smiled in spite of herself. Oh her dirty, dirty mind.

* * *

"So what's for dinner 'Mione?" Ron asked, half-jokingly. Despite the fact that her S.P.E.W. days were over (as far as he knew), he doubted she had stopped being a feminist.

"As a matter of fact, jackass, I _am_ making dinner. Homemade mac and cheese," she said, "Used to be one of your favorites, if I remember correctly."

"The three cheese kind? Like mum makes on my birthday?" George shouted from the bathroom.

"OUR BIRTHDAY," Fred called back from inside his room, "Georgie boy seems to be forgetting that he shares his birthday with, I don't know… HIS TWIN?"

Hermione giggled and stirred the macaroni in the pot. She certainly wouldn't be cooking dinner every night, they had agreed on that before she moved in, but it was nice to do something kind for them, especially when they opened their home to her so selflessly. She wouldn't start working at St. Mungo's for another week or so, so making dinner until then wasn't a big deal.

Ron loosened his tie and got out paper plates. They didn't even have a table, let alone any fine china. In the beginning, the three were strapped for cash and had to economize. A table and plates just seemed unnecessary. They usually just ate on their beat up couch while watching a nice game of Quidditch. After all, it was all thanks to Ron that there was even a wizarding channel to watch at all. He had thought of the idea as a great way to increase players' measly salaries.

"How was work?" Hermione asked Ron.

"Oh, you know. We're starting work on the Quidditch World Cup soon. That ought to be fun, with that little weasel breathing down my neck."

That little weasel was Jeremiah Scope, Ron's new assistant. He was very, er, high strung and stuck to Ron like glue.

"Oh stop, it won't be that bad. Any word on Ginny going onto the nation team?" She asked. Ron shook his head.

Hermione scooped out the food into the plates and the assumed their dinnertime positions. Previously, it was Ron on the floor, George on the recliner, and Fred on the couch (he liked his space). Hermione seemed to fit perfectly onto the couch. It was a very successful arrangement.

"Who's playing tonight?" Fred asked with a mouthful of macaroni and cheese.

"Harpies and Cannons," Ron said, "Gin's not playing though. She's on reserve tonight because of that wrist injury the other night."

"Oh dear, I hope she's alright" Hermione said, "Well if they aren't playing, why don't we watch something on the muggle History Channel? I hear their running a great miniseries on—"

George dropped his plate on the floor, getting pasta all over the hardwood floor.

"Not watch Quidditch?" he spuddered incredulously.

"Yeah, 'Mione, really! What's dinner without quidditch?" Ron said. His face had gone white as though she had suggested ritually sacrificing a goat.

"Oh sorry," she said awkwardly, "I really didn't… I mean, it's not as though…"

Fred noticed her shifting uncomfortable in her spot. He put his foot on hers gently.

"It's no big deal, really. Let's just take a vote, huh? No harm in the History Channel, really, it's just been our routine for nearly a year and a half," he said comfortingly. Ron and George looked at him oddly. What was he talking about? Fred was the biggest Cannons-head they knew.

Needless to say, Hermione lost the vote, but she never forgot how he stood up for her like that.

"Speaking of history," George said, "Have you told Lavender about Hermione living here?"

Ron looked suddenly in his shoes.

"Um, Ron… why not?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, you know how Lav can be," was all he said.

Hermione took her plate over to the garbage.

"Actually, no. Why don't you fill me in?"

"Well, you know… she's the jealous type and—"

"US? HAHAHAHA," Hermione dropped the plate into the can.

Ron looked suddenly hurt.

"Oh stop, Ron, you know I didn't mean…" Hermione trailed off. Maybe Ron really _didn't know_ what she meant. He knew there was no chance, right? That there never had been?

"Er, yeah, I know," Ron said. He chucked his dinner in the garbage and went into his room, where Alanis Morissette was soon heard under the door.

"He can be such a girl sometimes," George said shaking his head.


	3. I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen

**A/N**: I am so sorry I, like, died on you guys. It was so lame of me and I swear it won't happen again. I got a new inspiration for writing and this is a personal favorite of mine 3. Please keep reviewing, I love it!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. This is all J.K.R's. Plus, if you sue me, I don't have any money or material possessions except this computer, so it would be pointless.

* * *

"FRED! WHERE IS MY MADAME CERISE'S STRAIGHT HAIR SMOOTHING SOLUTION?" Hermione bellowed as she frantically searched through the bathroom drawer where she kept all of her things. It was 8:37 and she had to be into work by nine o'clock. Charging out of the room in nothing but a bathrobe, she slammed open the door to his room.

"Jesus, Hermione, is knocking a foreign concept?" He asked as he pulled a shirt over his head.

"No, it's just… I can't find my… and my first day… and I'm running late…" She was starting to hyperventilate.

Fred put his hands on her shoulder. How she could get so worked up over something as silly as work boggled his mind.

"Relax, girl, you're going to have coronary," he said as he tried to get her to take deep breaths, "You might want to call George though. I heard him saying how good of an adhesive it was for our new—"

"ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME? I HAVE WORK IN LESS THAN A HALF HOUR AND THAT STUFF COSTS TEN GALLEONS A BOTTLE!"

She stormed out of the room. Sometimes guys could be so completely oblivious. She really liked living with them, because they really were fun, but it was times like this when she wanted to whack them upside the head.

She smoothed out her hair as best as she could and put it up. Not terrible. _Just relax, Hermione, it's going to be fine_, she thought, _At least there's nothing wrong with your outfit._

Except when she went to put on a pair of pantyhose, she noticed a huge run from her ankle to her knee. Trying to avoid panic, she went to look for the backup pair she was holding in the back of her top drawer just for such emergencies. Only it wasn't there._ Does the universe have something against me today?_.

"Fred, did George also take my spare pair of pantyhose?"

Fred jogged into her room.

"Actually," he said with a boyish grin, "That was me. I have this fetish for women's clothing. Sad, really…"

"Seriously, Fred!"

"Okay, okay, I took them for another one of our experiments. I didn't think you'd miss them. They were hidden so well, really…"

"One, please don't go pawing around my underwear drawer. Two, it better be DAMN good experiment because I did a shoddy job shaving my legs and I don't have any pantyhose to hide my handiwork. So if I lose my job, it's all you!"

Fred smiled. She was really learning to deal well with their extremely immature behavior.

"Don't worry. Finish getting ready and I'll run across the street and grab you a new pair," he volunteered.

How chivalrous, Hermione thought.

It's a good thing her robes weren't too short. Maybe they wouldn't notice the fishnet stockings…

* * *

"Hi, I'm here for the medical researcher position?" Hermione said eagerly. She envisioned piles of books and microscopes and being surrounded by the best and the brightest witches and wizards in their fields.

"Ah yes," a tiny witch in a lab coat said, "Please follow me."

They walked through a long and twisted series of corridors. Everything was such a sterile white, and many of the walls were lined with chairs and dotted with doorways. Some had men and women crying outside of them, some had children playing marbles on the floor, but the worst ones were the ones where you could look through the window and watch someone talk to a non-responsive patient. It broke her heart.

As she walked, she wondered what it was like for the Weasleys when Percy was rushed here. They said he was dead on impact, but surely they would have taken him here for an attempted resuscitation. She thought of how she had gotten the owl, felt a brief period of sadness, and went back to her work. It never even occurred to her that Ron needed her here, while he was the one crying outside of a hospital room or talking over a motionless body. She wondered if Harry had gone. He probably had.

"Here we are," the cheery little witch said. Hermione snapped back into reality. They were in a windowless room lined wall to wall with filing cabinets, except for a desk in the corner with a tiny swivel chair.

"I'm sorry, I think you misheard me. I'm a _medical researcher_," Hermione said slowly. Maybe she was deaf in one ear or something.

"Yes, I know that," the witch said patronizingly, just as slow as Hermione had said it.

Inwardly, Hermione was groaning. The tiny witch went into great detail about how the filing system works and how St. Mungo's prides itself on keeping its cases in order. As soon as she was gone, Hermione felt herself slumping in her chair. _This_ was their idea of being a medical researcher? She might as well have just applied to be a secretary.

She glared down at the imposing pile of manila folders beginning to tilt off the edge of the desk. Realizing that this daunting task was the only thing paying her rent, she began to go through each folder and place it in the appropriate cabinet. It wasn't amusing, not at all, but it passed the time.

She was just getting the bottom of the stack when there was a knock on her door. It made her jump a little, actually. It was surprisingly easy to get absorbed in stories about creature bites and botched botanical potions.

"Well, hello", said a man as she opened the door, "You're Hermione Granger, right?"

She surveyed him. He was tall, about six feet, with medium length black hair that fell softly around his striking blue eyes. He was wearing a white lab coat and had a Super Softie Fizz and envelope in his hand.

She nodded.

"I'm Putnam Berkley," he said, "And these are for you."

"Me? Why?"

"Well, I used to be stuck in here. Before a spot on the research team opened up. This is like an initiation of sorts, I guess. When I heard we had a new girl in here, I thought I'd do something nice and bring her a picker-upper. And they also asked me to give you this… it was owled to you, but there aren't any windows in here so…" Hermione couldn't help but think his rambling was sort of cute.

"Well, thanks a lot, Putnam, and I'll be seeing you around?" she asked, sounding just a little too hopeful.

"Oh Merlin, call me Berk. Everyone does. And if you get some free time in this place, come visit me downstairs."

"Definitely," Hermione said cheerfully. Maybe this job wouldn't be so terrible after all.

* * *

Ginny had owled Hermione a note asking her to meet up at Tabletops, a new pub opening up in Diagon Alley, for drinks after work. She was eager to see how Hermione's first day was. Knowing Hermione, she probably found a cure to some major disease in the eight hours she spent in there.

Now Ginny was waiting at a table for Hermione to arrive. She had already downed a shot of Firewhiskey to loosen her up. She touched her wrist tenderly. It had been healing really slowly and she was starting to get nervous. If the national team was going to pick her up, she was going to need to put in a lot more time on the field.

Hermione caused a little stir when she walked in the door. All the guys picked their heads up from the table. Her hair was up with tendrils framing her face and she was wearing… _fishnet stockings_? Was Ginny going blind?

"Nice hosiery there, 'Mione," Ginny said with a grin.

"Thank your darling brother Fred. I ask him to run out and grab pantyhose and this is what I get," Hermione said giggling.

They ordered another three rounds of firewhiskeys (Hermione was SO glad she had started work on a Friday), and soon enough everything was becoming hilarious.

"So how is everything going with Harry?" Hermione managed to get out between hiccups.

"Oh, it's fine. I never seem to &see& the bloke, but when we got together its so amazing," Ginny said dreamily.

"So are you going to get, you know, married?"

"How should I know? I haven't seen him in a month!" Ginny said, "But here's a better question. How are things with my brother?"

"Oh God, don't get like Lav, I wouldn't shag Ron…"

"Not Ron, dolt, FRED! I see you looking at him with goooogly eyes," Ginny said laughing.

Hermione, even with all the Firewhiskey in her blood, wanted to change the subject. Fred wasn't into her, they were just flatmates. He was a party boy who liked lots of supermodel women. She was not a supermodel.

"You know what Gin? It's getting late and I'm exhausted. Meet you for dinner tomorrow?" Hermione asked gathering her things and stumbling out the door. She decided to walk home, hoping that maybe the cold air would sober her up a little.

* * *

She was still intoxicated beyond recognition when she traipsed in the door to the apartment. She heard Lavender giggling inside of Ron's room and Fred was sitting on the couch watching TV.

Fred Weasley, in on a Friday night? _I must be really drunk_, she thought.

"Hey, Hermione," Fred said looking up. She looked so unbearably hot. Her hair was falling out of the ponytail she had put her hair in and her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol and the cold night air. She was taking off her sweater so she had nothing but a tiny lacy blank tank top underneath.

"Hey there," she said, plopping onto the couch beside him, "Whatcha watching?"

"I'm not watching it. I was just thinking about something," he said, looking into her eyes.

"Oh yeah? Like what," she said. She felt a case of the giggles coming on, and she knew it wasn't a good time to just burst out into a laughing fit.

"I'm not sure how to say this, so I'll put it bluntly. I like you," Fred said earnestly.

"Well, cool! I like you too, Fred. You're really funny and SO cute," she said, "But it's not like anything can happen. It would ruin us living together, not to mention we have nothing in common."

His face screwed up. This wasn't what he was expecting. He_ never_ got turned down.

"Okay, well, I'm dog tired. Goodnight Freddy!" she said as she erupted into giggles again.

Fred didn't even look at as she bounced out of the room.

* * *

**A/N:** You may think Hermione was a bit OOC towards the end of the chapter, but I can promise I'll snap her right back in the next chapter. I've always thought Hermione had a bit of a _wild streak_ in her ;-). 


	4. Good Taste

A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews. If anyone was wondering, the title of chapter three was from Say Anything. The character of Diane sort of reminds me of Hermione a bit, especially when John Cusack says she's a brain "trapped in the body of a game show hostess". Keep on reading, it's part of my motivation for writing!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the numerous pop culture I reference throughout. Much love to J.K.R. 33.

**- & -**

Hermione woke up with a pounding headache. To be honest, she couldn't even remember anything about the previous night. She remembered Ginny saying that table dancing seemed like a good idea, and she vaguely remembered a brief conversation with Fred on the couch when she got home. But what had she said? What had he said? Had she admitted her feelings?

It was too early. She needed some _really_ strong coffee.

Running her hands through her hair, she realized how dirty it felt. Her whole body felt ache-y and disgusting, really. She reached for the tea kettle. They didn't have a coffeemaker, but they did have instant.

"Sleep well, Hermione?" George asked as he entered the kitchen. His hair was standing up from all different angles and he was wearing a massive Weird Sisters t-shirt and a pair of red jockey briefs. The sight was almost too much for Hermione's early morning hangover eyes.

"Like a rock. Say, George do you know of…" Hermione had begun to ask if George knew any good cures for a hangover, but then realized that she would probably just end up with magenta hair or a swollen tongue if she took his advice.

"You look like shit," he said as he got out two mugs from the cabinet.

"Why thank you. You really do look _becoming_ in those nuthuggers, you know."

George glanced down bashfully.

"I totally forgot I was wearing these, _Now_ will you finally shag me?" he said grinning.

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. George really did look adorable, sort of, like a little boy. Even with her migraine, she felt happy to be there in that moment.

The two of them looked up from their coffee when they heard Fred's bedroom door open. By the sound of him stomping across the living room floor, she could tell the happy moment had just ended.

"Good morning, gorgeous." George said at Fred's bedraggled appearance. He really did look absolutely terrible. He was wearing an old Weird Sisters t-shirt (must be a twin thing) with a hole under the arm and pants that appeared to have a jam stain just below the butt. His hair was in his face, but one could still see a glimpse of the bagged and bloodshot eyes underneath.

"Sod off," Fred muttered as he scratched his head. This caused the left side of hair to stick out at about a forty-five degree angle. Hermione began to tap her fingers on the table nervously. She honestly couldn't remember a thing about what transpired when she came in the night before, but it was obvious that she had made a grievous mistake. Well, someone did, anyway.

"Not feeling very pleasant, Sunshine?" George asked provokingly. There was nothing George enjoyed more than making his twin angry. It was just so… _gratifying_.

"Do you need the definition of sod off? I'm sure _Hermione_ has a dictionary lying around somewhere."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. So it _had_ been something she said the night before, if her feminine intuition was worth anything. She was tempted to ask him if he wanted Oxford Standard or Webster's, but thought better of it.

Hermione and George exchanged glances. _Must be PMSing_, George mouthed silently. She tried to stifle a laugh. Fred just grabbed a box of donuts off of the counter and a half gallon of milk and went into his room wordlessly, slamming the door as hard as he could with his hands full.

"Easy there, wouldn't want to be the tubby twin, now would we?" George called after him. Fred responded by throwing what sounded like a spoon against the inside of his bedroom door.

**- & -  
**

She was rifling through a rack of clearance dress robes when she caught a familiar gaze across Madame Malkin's women's department. Curious, she put down the two piece emerald green set she was eyeing and walked over to get a closer look.

It took her a few minutes to place name with the face. Long-ish dark hair, piercing stare, spindly arms paired with a lanky torso. He had delivered her a message at work the day before. What was his name?

"Berk?" she asked, surprised to find him looking at women's designer robes. She hoped she had gotten his name right, or that he even remembered her. He was really quite cute and imagined how many women's names he learned daily. Even now, Hermione could see a pair of eyes checking him out from behind a rack of plus size robes.

"Wow, Hermione. Nice to see you," he said. He really seemed to genuinely mean it.

She smiled. "You remembered my name."

"Of course I did. I make it a point not to forget the names of beautiful women," he said, cringing at the realization of how cheese his line had been.

"Are you looking for robes for your girlfriend? Or wife maybe?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too eager. She liked Fred, but he didn't seem to be showing much interest these days, especially with his outburst over breakfast, and Putnam Berkley was absolutely adorable.

He held up his left hand and wiggled his empty ring finger. _That doesn't mean anything_, Hermione thought, _he could still have a girlfriend_.

"No, I'm unattached. Apparently I don't load dishwashers properly or pick up my socks often enough," he wiggled his eyebrows and Hermione laughed a little before he continued, "These are for my sister actually. It's her birthday next week and I wanted something special for her," he said.

"Need some help? You look sort of lost." He _did_ look hopelessly confused, surrounded in a multi-colored sea of satins and velvets.

"What's your price range?" she asked, feeling the sleeve of a particularly pretty violet robe. It cost a pretty penny, but it was gorgeous.

"I, er, don't have one really. Anything goes," he said. He seemed reluctant to admit that he had money. Odd, she thought.

"Well in that case, you might as well go for the best. Lady Laire makes robes for all the highest society witches. What color eyes does your sister have?"

"Green," he said curiously. He didn't see how his sister's eye color pertained to the task at hand.

"Then I would go with this one," she said, pointing at a plum knee length robe, "It will make her eyes pop."

He looked at the merchandise approvingly. She had very good taste.

"Thanks, I'll get this one then," he said bringing it over to the sales clerk who had been trailing behind him like a lion waiting for its prey. She complimented him on his choice, and he mentioned how it had been all Hermione's decision.

"You two make a lovely couple. What's the occasion?" she asked.

"Oh my, we're not a couple!" Hermione said, immediately wishing that she hadn't made it sound like the idea was completely ridiculous. He didn't seem to look too affected, although she wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad thing.

After the witch finished wrapping up the robes, Putnam turned to Hermione.

"Do you think you might want to come with me to Flourish and Blotts? I know a bookstore might seem boring, but I really need to pick up the new—"

"Charlottine Holmes?" Hermione asked, remembering that she had wanted to pick it up also.

"Yeah, actually, how'd you know?"

"Let's just say I read a little bit myself…" she said as they stepped out into the sunlit streets of Diagon Alley.

**- & -  
**

Three hours later, the two self-proclaimed bookworms were still chatting about their favorite authors as they ate boysenberry sundaes from Fortescue's. The sun was shining brightly on the two, as they discussed their lives and their literature. Putnam was also muggleborn, which Hermione took a liking to right away, since it meant that they had some common ground. He had lived his whole life in London and although he often imagined what life outside of England was like, he had never left the island. Hermione, in turn, told him all the wild stories of her travels across the globe. He was entranced.

"I've never met someone like you before," he said as he dug his spoon into the ice cream.

"Oh?" She said. She wasn't sure if it was a compliment or not.

"You know, someone who speaks so confidently about the world, and politics, and books, and doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks."

"Have I offended you?" She asked, missing the point of his compliment.

"No, just enlightened me to the world of dating intelligent women," he said grinning slyly. His blue eyes seemed to light up when they met hers.

"Is that what this is? A date? Where I come from, a trip to the bookstore and some ice cream doesn't mean you're on a—" she stopped suddently as she felt his hand reach for hers on the table. Their touch wasn't electric, like it had been with Fred, but it was still very pleasant.

"Can I take you out sometime?" he asked, locking eyes with her again. With a face like that, how could a girl say no?

"Sure, anytime you like," she said, writing her number on a piece of paper and handing it to him. They sat together for a moment, in a silence, but not an awkward one. It was only then she noticed Fred walking out of a sweets shop across the street, taking a look at Berk and Hermione before turning the other way. _Thanks for the acknowledgement_, she thought bitterly. He didn't look angry, though, like before. _Maybe now's the right time to try and patch things up._

"Well, thanks for everything Berk. Give me a ring tomorrow?" she asked vacantly, scanning the crowds along the sidewalk for Fred's crimson hair. She didn't even bother listening to Putnam's reply before getting her things together and dashing off to find Fred.

Luckily, he was stuck on a corner waiting for an extremely slow witch on an antique bicycle to finish crossing when she caught up to him. He looked considerably better than before. He changed into a sweater and jeans and had at least combed down the "wings" in his hair before being seen in public.

"Oh hello, Hermione." He said while crossing the street. He didn't even turn around to look at her for more than a second.

"Er, hello, Fred," she said cautiously to his back, "Can we talk somewhere?"

Fred jammed his hands into his pockets. "I suppose here is as good as anywhere," he said, leaning back against an old brick building. Hermione could see he was going to be difficult, but she wasn't about to give up.

"About last night…" she began hesitantly, even though she had put together a tiny speech in her head during the last moments of ice cream.

"Don't bother," he said, "You made yourself perfectly clear."

"But—"

"No buts, Hermione, it's done. Who was that you were with before?" he asked, nodding his head towards the ice cream parlor.

"Oh, just someone from work," she said. Did she want to say they were dating? No, that wouldn't make any sense as they hadn't even gone on a real date. She decided to try and avoid talking about the dynamics of their relationship with Fred until she knew herself.

"Someone from work? You've only been working for a day," he said, shifting his weight. Was it that incredulous that she might be attractive enough to pick someone up from work?

"Yes, actually. He's very nice. We're dating," she said quickly.

She could see in Fred's face that she had chosen the wrong wording. His blue eyes turned cloudy, as though he was thinking of something far off. In this case, trying to figure out how to respond to her little outburst.

"Do you even know his last name?" Fred was beginning to show the first stages of the infamous Weasley temper.

"Of course, we're _dating_ for heaven's sake," she said impatiently, using the d-word as a weapon against the Big Bad Fred.

"How do you know he's not an axe murderer?" he asked, as though there were plenty of axe murderers around London, particularly ones who had gone through psychological training and worked at hospitals.

"Are you suggesting that I don't have good taste?" she asked seethingly. The Granger temper wasn't a force to be reckoned with, either.

"Your words, not mine," he said, almost slipping into George's sing-sing insult voice.

She yanked the shoulder strap on her bag and brushed her bangs out of her face so he could see just how mad she was getting. Her cheeks were turning red and her eyes were getting so dark, they were almost black.

He thought about how pretty she was when she was furious at him.

"That's it, I'm not just going to stand around while you insult me," she said, waiting for him to say something in response. Instead, he just shrugged and walked away, making her even more furious.

"FRED WEASLEY, I HOPE YOU KNOW THE DEFINITION OF SOD OFF BECAUSE—" she stopped in mid sentence when she realized that Fred was long gone and she wasn't making any sense, judging by the looks she was getting by other pedestrians.

They had _obviously_ never had their taste in men insulted by a rather infuriating Weasley twin.


	5. Right Up There With Elizabeth Taylor

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone for the awesome reviews! I can't tell you how much they mean to me. Also, here's a little explanation of the chapter titles:

The first two are self explanatory.

The second one, if you've read the Author's Note in chapter 4, is from Say Anything. It's Lloyd's, a.k.a. John Cusack's, way of describing rejection from Diane.

"Must be a twin thing" doesn't make sense because during a re-write, I cut two of the lines that said "must be a twin thing". It originally appeared three times in the chapter, but since I'm anal retentive and go through the text at least twice (fixing things) before I put it up, I must have left them out. My bad. The new title is "good taste", because the phrase appears in two of the three sections.

Props to anyone who can figure out what movie this chapter's title is from and the beginning of this quote. No google-ing allowed!

**Dislaimer: **I don't own a damn thing, except Putnam Berkley. Everything else is property of J.K. Rowling & Company.

**- & -**

A month had passed since Hermione and Fred's confrontation in Diagon Alley and although they were speaking, neither of them was ready to completely forgive the other. Deep down, Fred knew he was wrong to judge Hermione and her new guy the way he did, but he just couldn't get over how into her he really was. Didn't she feel the way he felt? How could she ignore the electricity when they touched?

Tonight was Hermione and Berk's one month anniversary, and they were going out with Ron and Lavender and Harry and Ginny. Harry was in town for a few days, at Ginny's request. Hermione was pleased that he had come, because she could see that Ginny was really suffering without him. Hermione didn't want to miss out on a chance to have three of her best friends (and her boyfriend) in the same spot. It was too good to pass up.

Now, the hardest decision she was going to have to make all evening was what to wear. She had narrowed it down to two dresses: a gold knee length or an electric blue satin mini. Her plan had been to be spontaneous, but she had given that up was beginning to make a pro and con list for each one.

She had just decided on the satin mini when she heard her bedroom door open. Fred gently shut it behind him and crossed over to the bed.

"Did you do my laundry?" He asked. His shoulders looked tense and his voice spoke as though it pained him to ask her. He knew this was a completely ridiculous question, but he wanted to talk to her, and this seemed to be the easiest way. He didn't want her to think he was prying into her life or anything.

'Um, no. Why on earth would I do your laundry?" she asked shaking her head. The last thing she wanted to go through was ruddy underwear and dirty socks that belonged to anyone but herself. Even then, it was sort of gross.

"Just wondering," he replied shortly and turned and left. He had played this scenario out in his head and the Hermione in his mind was really a lot nicer than the real one.

"Hey, Fred! Come back!" She was tired of this little game. She didn't want things to be tense with her flatmate. Not just her flatemate, but her friend.

"What is it?" he asked impatiently. He hoped it wasn't laundry related, because he had realized how lame that sounded and just wanted to get off the topic altogether.

"I just… you know, feel bad about what happened that day. You know, in Diagon Alley. I don't want things to be weird with us anymore," she said, the last part as soft as a sigh. It was true. She wanted to be friends again more than anything in the world.

Fred's body relaxed. He was ready to put everything behind him and be supportive of Hermione. For now, anyway. If she wanted to see that Berkley character, that was her prerogative. He would no longer stand in her way.

"I want to be friends again, too, Hermione. More than you know." The volume of his voice dropped to match hers. For a few seconds he just looked at her, without anger or sadness, just a kind of hope. He brushed her forearm gently before turning to go.

"And Fred?"

"Yes?" he answered, turning around in the doorway to face her.

"If you ever want to talk to me, you don't have to make it about laundry," she said with a smile.

Men could be so lame sometimes.

**- & -**

"And so the witch goes, thanks for the barricudas!" Berk delivered the punchline of his joke, causing everyone in the table to erupt in laughter.

_Things are going so well_, Hermione thought. Ron and Lavender really seemed to like Putnam, despite Hermione's misgivings that Ron might take Fred's side in all of this. Ron, however, being completely oblivious, just thought it was nice that Hermione had a boyfriend and Lav would finally get off his back about them being romantically involved.

There was only one tiny hitch in the evening. The two couples had been having drinks at the bar for more than a half hour and there was still no sign of Harry and Ginny. Hermione felt particularly disappointed because she was only one who hadn't seen him yet, and she wanted to catch up on his life. She had missed two years and she wasn't about to miss anymore.

"You look stunning tonight," Berk whispered into Hermione's ear. Maybe it was the way he said it, or the martinis, or both, but she felt particularly feminine at that moment. She had let her hair down in long sleek curls around her face and was confident that the blue minidress was the right decision. The only thing that would make her feel better was if Ginny were here.

"You don't look so bad yourself," she said. It was true; he did look devastatingly handsome in his pale blue shirt and tailored pants. He looked expensively dressed, but not at all flashy. _A perfect first impression_, she thought.

Berkley was one of the reasons she was still at St. Mungo's. She dreaded the filing she did day after day, but he promised that it was all worth it, because the research center was absolutely amazing. The best in the wizarding world, he'd told her.

Plus, she got to see him every day on her lunch break, which made the time pass so much faster.

The couples sat for a few more minutes, drinking and having some laughs, before Hermione felt the alcohol make its way towards her bladder. She excused herself and headed for the bathroom.

The bathroom was really beautiful. Gilded gold walls, with marble flooring. A row of sofas and armchairs lined the wall facing mirrors.

The first thing she heard when she entered was sniffling, as though someone were crying. Not wanting to intrude, Hermione went about her business. It was only when she was washing her hands that the sniffles broke into full on sobs. The sobs unmistakably belonged to Ginny.

"Ginny?" Hermione whispered softly in the direction of the sobbing stall.

"Hermione?" Ginny asked, hiccupping slightly from her crying.

"What are you doing in here? Come out with me to the table…"

"No! I don't want anyone to see me like this," Ginny said. /Ginny certainly did value her pride, Hermione thought with an inward smile. She finally managed to coax Ginny out of the stall. She led her over to one of the armchairs in front of the mirror and had her sit down.

"Start from the beginning," Hermione said gently, brushing away a piece of hair stuck to Ginny's face by the tears.

"I… don't know how, really. Our relationship is in shambles, Hermione, it really is. I keep saying that it's fine, that I love it for its casualty and I don't mind him being gone all the time, but it's a lie really. A really elaborate lie so complicated that I even believed it for a while."

Hermione nodded for Ginny to go on, not wanting to interrupt her confession.

"Yesterday, at the awards dinner, Harry just seemed so distant. I love him more than anything in the world, you know that, but I just can't seem to get him to really _see_ me. I'm there, and we're together, but I don't have all of him like he has all of me. There's no other woman, I know that, but it's not even a consolation really because all that really means is that I'm a terrible girlfriend."

"You're not a terrible girlfriend, Gin," Hermione said quietly.

"No, I probably am. You know something? I told him to meet me early here today, so that we could talk. I figured it would be better because if we fought, at least his best friends would be there to cheer him up a bit and soften the blow. But he never fucking showed up. I waited out in front for twenty minutes before an owl dropped off a message that he was leaving and he wouldn't be back for at least a month, and that I probably wouldn't be able to contact him. That's when I started to cry. He's leaving and he couldn't even come here on the way to the station to kiss me goodbye."

"Maybe he had to go right then…"

"No, Hermione. You know how Harry is and if he really wanted to see me, he would have. I waited out here like an idiot, like I always end up doing, for nothing. This is all I ever wanted, Hermione. This is what I based my life around. And it's falling apart around me and I'm just sitting here, crying in some bathroom, letting it happen."

Hermione hugged Ginny tightly. She wished that there were something for her to say, but there wasn't. The truth was that she had been so absorbed in her own life, she hadn't even noticed how sad Ginny was. It seemed to be becoming a trend with her, missing people's pain because she was so tied up in her own.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Hermione said. She went out and kissed Berk goodbye without explanation.

**- & -**

Hermione dropped Ginny off at her apartment. They talked a little bit, mostly Hermione assuring Ginny that everything was going to work out fine. By the time it was over, Hermione's express desire was to kick Harry's ass when she saw him.

She set her bag on the table by the door and collapsed on the couch, wanting nothing more than a good book and maybe a cup of coffee. She felt kind of bad leaving Berk during their anniversary dinner, but it was high time she did something for someone else, and Ginny had really needed her. She considered calling Berk, but thought better of it. Ron wasn't home yet, so she didn't see why Berk would have gone home either. He was probably out with "the boys", or something.

She laid her head back against a throw pillow, her skirt getting tangled and messed up, but she didn't care. No one was home, so it didn't really matter what it looked like.

Just as sleep was drifting over her, she heard a key in the door. Looking up, she saw it was only Fred and put her head back in the pillow.

"'Mione are you feeling all right? You look really pale.

"You wouldn't believe the night I had," she said.

"Try me," he said walking over to her and furrowing his brows. "When was the last time you ate anything?"

She took a momentary pause to think about it.

"I don't even know. I missed dinner, though," she said sitting up.

"Come on," he said, "let's go get something then. You need it."

And just like that the two fluttered out into the night air.

**- & -**

**A/N:** Next chapter is going to be all fluff, but you'll just have to wait a week because I have a dance competition in Disneyworld. I've spoiled you lately with a chapter a day, so here's a taste of what my six month long hiatus was like, for those of you who've just started reading. Adios and wish me luck!


End file.
